


because dreaming costs money, my dear

by hyperlight



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Post-Divorce, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperlight/pseuds/hyperlight
Summary: allison stops by.





	because dreaming costs money, my dear

_THEN_

They won. They fucking won. The crowd is unbelievable, and yet the only thing Allison can hear is the roaring of her blood, the victory singing through her chest. She knows there’s a weight hanging on, that this game had loaded stakes to it from the moment Neil joined the team whether they liked it or not, but all she can feel is like her shoulders are weightless for the first time in months.

She looks over at Renee, fucking brilliant, shining Renee, and runs to her, wants to throw her in the air and catch her, spin her around like a racquet, pin her close and bash their heads together until they ring with it. Allison feels like she’ll never come down from this high.

“We did it!” She yells, indiscriminately, to no one and everyone. Renee looks over and smiles and-

And suddenly there’s another punch to Allison’s chest. Suddenly there’s something else she wants to do. She strides over, chest still singing, blood still roaring, and feels her hands close around Renee’s face. “We did it, Walker.”

Renee blinks up at her, quiet and huge, the only thing looming in Allison’s view.

And yet it’s not mutual. “Renee!”

Renee turns away to- what’s-his-face… Jean. Fucking Jean Moreau. She smiles and runs up to him, right out of Allison’s grasp, to jump into his arms and kiss him. Victorious.

Allison watches and everything slows, just a little. Jean Moreau. What does he have that she doesn’t? It’s ridiculous. She’s never felt jealous of anyone in her life. What could anyone have that wouldn’t be easily covered by her black card? There’s no point. Jealousy is for small people, people that want without any hope of attaining. Allison is not small. 

She turns away from Renee, from Jean, and focuses on the win. Dan and Nicky sweep her up into their celebrations anyway and it’s dumb, they won, they fucking did it when no one thought they could. Grabbed their win from the jaws of death- from the beak of death. It’s worth everything to see the varying looks of despair on those shitty Raven faces. She can’t wait until the whole world is flooded with Fox orange. She turns away from Renee and tells herself she won’t look back.

 

* * *

 

_NOW_

Never in thirty-nine years has Allison Reynolds hesitated like this. It’s excruciating, feeling like everyone else when she’s clearly so much better. She’s meant to be better. Her gorgeous leather Balmain gloves squeeze around her steering wheel so tightly her hands squeak with it. Stupid. Childish. Who waits in their car outside their best friend’s house for ten- no, wait, fifteen, now- minutes straight? Idiots. Losers. Losers who don’t own private beaches (yes, plural) and luxe exy-wear lines, who get to see their best friends more regularly than a few times a year when work doesn’t get in the way. She left the Cayman Islands for this, her first vacation in three years. It’s fucking important. So why is she still trapped inside? She checks her reflection in her rearview mirror. Perfect, her highlighter is a gold sheen on her perfect cheekbones. She looks priceless to fight off those feelings of worthlessness, to compensate for the Santa Monica bungalow she’s about to walk into, the one she has a key to that she’s never used. Sack up, Reynolds, you pathetic crone. She gets out of the car.

The door has one of those disgusting metal gates in the front. Glad she wore gloves, she knocks on the door without finesse. Looks around the cul-de-sac, trying to hide the way her nose points up. And then the door opens and it’s Renee, it’s always Renee.

She looks older, her hair grown out and black again, slight streaks of grey at her temples. An inversion of the colours she had when they met, when they were half their age, when she didn't think twice of pastel colours flecked around her face. Swamped in a huge sweater with her family’s Christmas photo on the front, silver crucifix on show as always, she’s the picture-perfect Mom, now. The kind that fills the house with the smell of baking, the kind that speaks softly when you’re sleepy, the kind that waits hours after a soccer game - or maybe her kids play exy after school - for carpool. When she sees who’s darkened her doorstep, she smiles.

“Allison,” Renee says, tenderly, always tenderly. She looks tired. She looks lovely. “Come in.”

Don’t they hug? Isn’t she meant to hug her best friend? She has no idea. So she doesn’t. Her hands itch inside her gloves. “It’s been a while-”

Renee waves her off, as usual, same patient smile on her face. “You’re busy, I’m fine…”

But she’s not, of course she’s not. These fucking gloves. She walks in, bowing her head a little, on instinct.

It’s such a modest house, a nice one, not really filled with anything yet still full, somehow. Allison would go insane in a house like this, but she doesn’t say that. “I like your wallpaper,” she says instead, as nonchalantly as she can manage. “Is it Pierre Frey?”

Renee turns to look at it, like she’s seeing it for the first time. “I have no idea, I never, um, asked?”

“Right, right,” Allison says, trying not to feel like she’s stumbling. She doesn’t stumble. “Sure.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yeah, jasmine?”

Renee nods and puts a pot on the stove. “He used to hate that I did this,” said so lightly, but Allison sees through it.

“He was an asshole, Renee,” but that’s not really what she wants to hear. Still: “It tastes the same regardless.”

“And of course you’ve never been so particular,” Renee teases, gently, always gently, no matter how easily she could slice across Allison’s throat with one of the many knives she has at her disposal. That’s it, isn’t it? The trust. Renee is the only person in the world that can get the drop on Allison, and she’s the only person in the world that wouldn’t even if she wanted to. “You once yelled at Andrew for forty minutes because he pronounced Louis Vuitton wrong.”

Allison wrinkles her nose. “He deserved a full hour.”

“He was surprised you showed so much restraint,” Renee laughs, covering her mouth. Allison wishes she wouldn’t, for once.

“How is Minyard? Enjoying marital bliss?”

“Adoption forms are being submitted, last I checked,” she clucks, and the water starts to bubble. “They both seem pretty happy about it.”

Minyard, the same little monster that hid knives on his forearms during their entire time in college, being responsible for short, unpredictable adults sounds like a recipe for disaster. And she reluctantly loves Neil to death, but he still has burn marks on his face, still looks like he needs to drop a turd every time he’s asked to emote beyond neutral displeasure. Allison can’t imagine two people less suited to being parents. “Wait, kids?”

“I was surprised, too, but… well, people change don’t they?”

It’s an off-hand comment. They’re not talking about Minyard or Neil anymore.

“I’m sorry about Martin.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Renee insists. The water lets off steam, clouding behind her. “Nothing for you to be sorry for.”

Allison’s jaw clicks when she clenches it. “You say the word and he’ll be foreclosing on that dumb pop-up Thai place tomorrow morning,”

“It’s not his fault, either,” Renee sighs, and she won’t sit down, Allison just wants her to sit with her at this tacky linoleum dining table set. “Allison, we just… we couldn’t keep going like we were. It wasn’t good for the children.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

The house, the money, the responsibility of a husband. “Who’s- who’s gonna look after you, huh?”

“I’m fine,” Renee looks at her strangely, “I’m fine, Allison.”

“What, you’re gonna download Tinder? Catch a few venereal diseases during menopause?”

“Easy, Allison,” and it’s like a storm over her face. That’s her, the Renee that can use any blade like a surgeon. “There’s no need to be rude.”

Allison leans back in her chair, rubs the net curtain between her fingers. It’s cheap. This whole fucking house is so cheap, it makes her furious. “You haven’t been out there for fourteen years, Renee, it’s a bloodbath.”

The water’s finally done boiling, and Renee looks like she wants to argue, but she takes the water off and pours it, lets the teabags steep. They’re quiet - even Allison knows when to finally keep her mouth shut - until she sits back down with the full steaming mugs. Neither woman touches her drink. Martin’s face beams out at Allison from her cup. She wants to smash it against the wall.

“He’s moving out. It’s not the end of the world. The kids’ll stay with me and he gets them on most weekends. I didn’t want him...” Renee laughs, leaning her head down on the table, infinitely touchable. Her cheek squishes and then she laughs. “No, that’s it, I just- I didn’t want him, anymore.”

Allison’s gloves feel suffocating. “What do you want, Walker?”

“You haven’t called me that in years…”

She stirs the tea with her spoon and it rattles against the porcelain. Renee deserves bone china. She deserves a championship title. “Would you… go back to exy at all?”

“Allison, don’t be bitter.”

“I’m not bitter, I’m a bitch, there’s a difference,” Allison says, dumping the teabag straight onto the table, because what does it matter, right? “He should’ve never gotten you to stop and you should never have let him.”

“You’re not a bitch, you’re just…” Renee sits up and there’s this little wrinkle between her eyebrows Allison’s desperate to smooth out. It’s gotten deeper since they last saw each other. “You’re angry for me. I don’t need you to be.”

“I’m angry for myself, we shouldn’t’ve kept going without you, we shouldn’t’ve-”

“Allison, I’m fine.”

Allison swipes the mug off the table and it smashes onto the ground and she hates herself, and more, she hates that Renee flinches. “You’re not fucking fine, stop saying that!”

Renee’s head falls, chin on chest, and she sniffs. Fuck. “Please.”

“Okay.” Allison's hands fold neatly in front of her. She can't lose her cool like that. It's not fair. 

Renee looks out of the window. “Hm. How’s everything?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” and it's Allison's turn to hand-wave.

“What, I want to know-”

Allison scoffs. “No, you don’t…”

Her lips upturn, sneaking a look back at Allison. Coy. Breathtaking. “Hm, perhaps.” She looks down at Allison’s gloves and frowns. “Where did I drag you from, Allison?”

“No one drags me anywhere,” Allison scoffs again, less convincing. “I have a jet, several, in fact, it was hardly a bother.”

Renee raises her eyebrow. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Time is money.”

“Time is a lot of things, more than money,” she pulls at the cuffs of her sweater, the sweater with that asshole’s face branded on it, on her dishes, on her entire life. A goddamn stain eking into every corner. Allison remembers receiving one of those sweaters in the mail. She remembers burning it. Renee’s voice is much smaller now. She was only quiet before, but no one ever made her small. “I believe I… I have wasted a lot of mine.”

“Stop. Your husband is a fucking idiot.”

“Ex-husband, Allison.”

“If it were up to me you’d be a widow, not a divorcee,” Allison bites.

Renee sighs, flops her hand, and it’s right there. “Allison, stop-”

Allison takes Renee’s hand in her’s, can’t quite feel it. The sensation’s there but she can’t feel the warmth, can't feel that undeniable sense of skin. Without letting go, she grabs the Balmain leather glove, the autumn edition, the one that only a few had access to, right between her teeth and throws it to the side so she can hold Renee’s hand bare. Renee lets out a shaky breath, it even hitches, when Allison bends down to kiss it. She leaves a perfect lipstick stain, lain over hands that are starting to soften and wrinkle. Powerful, capable hands.

“Oh,” Renee says.

Allison doesn’t let go. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s… fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. But…” Her tears roll fat down her face and she doesn’t… let go either. She wipes her eyes quickly with her other hand.

“Renee,” Allison breathes. She sounds unforgivably soft. 

And Renee laughs. “So silly. I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Will you stay?”

Allison bends her head down to press it to Renee’s hand. Renee turns it, just a little, so Allison’s cheek fits perfectly in her palm. Allison closes her eyes, feels the wealth that neither money nor time can buy deep in her chest.

**Author's Note:**

> idk i just missed them


End file.
